


...and All the Little Moments

by missmichellebelle



Series: Drabbles [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-10-01 22:14:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10201898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: A series of unrelated Victuuri drabbles.





	1. Warm-Up #2 - Pastel!Yuuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strands of pastel pink fall across his glasses and he smiles, and Victor’s heart aches in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **originally posted:** [march 3, 2017](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/157952978045/me-aw-now-that-i-have-pink-hair-i-cant-dress-up)  
>  **word count:** 700 words  
> 

There is a boy with pink hair who works at the campus café. His glasses are a pale shade of blue, he is fond of lilac and butter yellow sweaters, and the darkest thing he ever wears is the standard issue navy blue apron. He moves like a dancer, even when he’s sweeping the lobby or bussing tables, and he’s known around campus to make the best tea lattes in a ten mile radius. He is soft spoken, his movements gentle and his smile kind, and the café is busiest when he’s one of the employees behind the counter (he’s known for being a bit of a heartbreaker, too).

He doesn’t wear a name tag, but everyone knows his name is Yuuri, and Victor is a little bit in love with him.

“Good morning, Victor.”

Victor is an early riser by nature, but even if he wasn’t, he would haul himself up at whatever ungodly hours were demanded if it meant seeing that smile every morning. _There are other ways_ , he reminds himself miserably. _Oh_ , to wake up to Yuuri’s satin soft smiles and bubblegum bedhead.

“Good morning, Yuuri,” he responds easily. He’ll leave the wilting sighs and painful pining for the safety of his table in the corner, where there is no fear of Yuuri seeing because he _never_  looks over. “What do you have for me today?”

Victor’s drink is already ready, and Yuuri slides it across the counter with his knuckles. His fingernails are painted a soft, pale grey.

“Rose milk tea,” Yuuri says in that soft, shy voice of his, and Victor has to drag his eyes away from the graceful angles of Yuuri’s fingers to see the petals of color blossoming on his cheeks.

After three weeks of London fogs, once the staff had reached a point of saying, “Good morning, Victor. London fog, right?” Victor had had a bit of a crisis at how predictable he had become. That particularly manic morning, Yuuri had been working, and Victor had reached across the counter, grabbed Yuuri’s hand, and asked him to surprise him. That as long as Yuuri made it, Victor would like it.

Yuuri had said nothing, face a shade of pink that complimented his hair wonderfully, and had made him a blueberry green tea latte that had nearly made Victor cry from how good it was.

“That’s a new one,” Victor muses around a smile. “It sounds lovely.”

Yuuri ducks his head, his eyelashes a brief but striking cut against his cheekbone.

It’s an easy lead-in for a cheesy pick-up line. _Just like you_ , Victor could say with a flirty wink. Write his name down on on of the napkins stacked beside the register and slide it across the counter in exchange for the cup. But he had learned on his third encounter with Yuuri that he isn’t one for blatant come-ons.

In fact, he overlooks them entirely.

Which is understandable. Someone like Yuuri deserves to be _wooed_. Unfortunately, he is so stunning, so wonderful, so _unique_  that Victor has never come across anyone quite like him before and thus… Has no idea how to woo him. It’s _awful_. Miserable. Victor loves a challenge, but not if he can’t _solve_  it.

Yuuri wordlessly rings up his transaction—$4.75, every time, no matter what Yuuri makes him that day—not meeting Victor’s eyes as he inserts the chip of his debit card into the reader. It’s not an awkward silence. Victor would almost go as far as to say it’s borderline _comfortable_ , which makes him smile.

He leaves a $2 tip (once, he had tried to tip Yuuri directly, only for Yuuri to very pointedly put the tip in the communal jar; Victor did not try again), and Yuuri manages to make eye-contact with him long enough to say a warm, “Thank you.” Strands of pastel pink fall across his glasses and he smiles, and Victor’s heart aches in his chest. “Have a good day, Victor.”

“You, too, Yuuri.”

It is a death’s march to his normal table, a black parade under ominous rainclouds.

Victor is a little bit in love with Yuuri, and Yuuri isn’t even a little bit in love with him _at all_.


	2. Warm-Up #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor sees the tears slipping down Yuuri’s cheeks before he hears the whimper of a sob echo deep in Yuuri’s throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **originally posted:** [march 9, 2017](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/158204617505/warm-up-drabble-3-victuuri-528-words)  
>  **word count:** 528 words  
> 

It takes Victor longer than it should to notice. Once he does, he doesn’t say anything. He continues to smile, to lead the conversation over dinner as Yuuri sits there, staring at the table, shoulders hunched and tense and face blank. He doesn’t speak, even when directly spoken to, so Victor keeps the conversation on himself and on others. It might not be helping, but the only thing that will really help is getting Yuuri out of the situation.

He makes excuses after the wine glasses are empty, says goodbyes to their friends loudly and emphatically enough to make up for Yuuri’s silence. Even then, some of them are starting to realize. He sees the concerned furrow of eyebrows, the shared glances, and leads Yuuri quickly from Mila’s apartment before anyone has time to properly comment.

The drive home is silent. Yuuri has his forehead pressed against the window. The knuckles of hist fists are white, shaking against his thighs, and Victor’s heart aches in his chest.

When the car is parked, neither of them makes to leave.

Victor reaches across the space between them and rests his fingertips to the back of Yuuri’s hand. He wants to do more, wants to touch more, touch is his surest and most constant form of comfort, but he’s afraid that Yuuri will reject it. Will recoil and run and any chance at addressing this will slip through his fingers like smoke.

Yuuri breathes, long and slow and shuddering.

“Talk to me,” Victor requests, voice quiet, and carefully drags his touch from Yuuri’s wrist to his elbow. “It’s okay, Yuuri,” he continues, letting his fingers curve hesitantly, an awkward hold around Yuuri’s joint. “You’re safe here.”

Yuuri doesn’t speak, not at first, shifting around in his seat instead. His hands clench and unclench, fingers spasming like pale fireworks against the darkwash of his jeans, and then he hunches, breath stuttering.

Victor sees the tears slipping down Yuuri’s cheeks before he hears the whimper of a sob echo deep in Yuuri’s throat.

He doesn’t move as Yuuri starts to cry, harder and harder, until Yuuri’s hands are suddenly there, searching for him. They squeeze at his arms, at the fabric of his coat, searching, searching, searching. Victor’s resolve crumbles, and he gathers his fiancé into his arms, as awkward as it is with the center console of the car between them.

Yuuri cries. Victor says, _I’m here_ , with the slide of his hands over Yuuri’s trembling spine. _I’m here, and you’re safe_ , he says, running fingers through Yuuri’s hair. _I’m here, and you’re safe, and you’re going to be okay_ , he says as he rests his cheek to Yuuri’s temple and feels every sob of Yuuri’s in every inch of his own bones.

He kisses every part of Yuuri he can reach without jostling Yuuri from where his face is pressed to the skin of Victor’s neck. His forehead, his ear, his hair, the apple of his cheek. The kisses are quick, soft—an instinct. Victor kisses and kisses and says, _I’m here, and you’re safe, and you’re going to be okay, and **I love you**_.

But he doesn’t say anything at all.


	3. Warm-Up #4 - More Pastel!Yuuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why did you dye your hair pink?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **originally posted:** [march 10 2017](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/158240871990/warm-up-4-victuuri-421-words-more)  
>  **word count:** 421 words

“Why pink?” Victor finally asks after two months of dating. Yuuri is sleepy enough that he hadn’t protested when Victor had shifted him into his lap, didn’t jerk away or splutter in embarrassment as Victor started carding his fingers through soft, cotton candy hair. It’s pale, and he knows Yuuri will have to re-dye it soon.

“Hmm?” Yuuri’s cheek shifts against Victor’s thigh, and he has to focus on the feeling of bark pressing against his back through his t-shirt. It was almost, dare he say it, a _nuzzle_.

Victor pushes Yuuri’s hair from his face. His eyes are closed—it’s Hell Week, and everyone, everywhere, is pulling all-nighters left and right to prepare. Victor knows it’s been especially trying on Yuuri with his job, and also knows that Yuuri can’t afford to cut back his hours to compensate for the added schoolwork.

He extends a petal pink strand between his fingers and kisses it.

“Why did you dye your hair pink?” Victor asks again. Yuuri’s roots are starting to grow in, a natural dark brown color. They’re hardly visible, especially from far away, but Victor is close enough that he could bend down and press his nose to Yuuri’s scalp, so he can see the stubborn beginnings of regrowth.

“Mmmm. I like the color,” Yuuri murmurs, voice soft and sleepy. It, combined with the gentle wind rustling the tree above them, makes Victor feel like a nap himself. “And…” Yuuri pauses, and Victor waits for the telltale sign of walls. Of Yuuri’s shoulders tensing, of the stuttering stops and starts, the sudden obvious switch of topic. He can feel Yuuri breathing deeply, every inhale making his shoulder press against Victor’s leg, and drags the pads of his fingers across the crown of Yuuri’s head and waits.

“I… I think I wanted to stop feeling invisible.” It’s a quiet admission, almost carried away by the spring breeze. “I wanted people to see me.”

It is a constant revelation for Victor that the Yuuri he sees, and the Yuuri that Yuuri sees, are apparently different people. That when Yuuri looks in the mirror, the man he sees is not the one that has launched a thousand crushes and that has the campus café with lines out the door so long as he’s the one behind the bar.

That maybe the only person who doesn’t _see_  Yuuri is Yuuri himself.

Victor bends nearly in half to press a kiss to Yuuri’s hair, and says, “I think I would have seen you no matter what.”


	4. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t really see the stars here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **originally posted:** [march 24 2017](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/158782431940/brambledown-asked-someone-stringing-twinkle)  
>  **word count:** 1k words  
>  **prompt:** Someone stringing twinkle lights around the bedroom they share with their partner?  
>  **prompted by:** brambledown

St. Petersburg is nothing like Hasetsu. Then again, he hadn’t expected it to be. Detroit was nothing like Hasetsu, either, although Yuuri does think of his stay in America more now that he’s in Russia. It’s… Industrial, in a way that Hasetsu isn’t and probably never will be.

It’s not that he minds, so much, it’s just that it’s obvious in ways he hadn’t anticipated. If he’d come straight to St. Petersburg from Detroit, he’s sure he wouldn’t notice how much he misses particular things, but after being home for a year, the empty places ache in almost the same ways as they had when he was 18 and leaving home for the first time.

Victor notices. Of course Victor notices. But he doesn’t say anything, for which Yuuri is grateful. It’s all an adjustment, but then, Victor uprooting his life and moving to Japan for nearly eight months had surely been an adjustment, too. There’s hardly time to settle in the beginning—they’re still mid-season, after all—and Yuuri has high hopes that once he actually gets to live in St. Petersburg and not just train and spend too much time at the airport there, that he’ll start to feel better. Is sure of it, even.

Mostly sure.

Hopefully sure?

(Not sure.

The season ends, life picks up a routine and a rhythm, and Yuuri still feels like pieces of himself are out of alignment.

Victor still notices.)

They’re out walking Makkachin at dusk on a spring day when Yuuri says, “It’s—” and then stops, not sure how to continue, how to describe something that’s more feeling than anything, and even then, a feeling he can’t quite nail down.

Victor reaches into the space between them and takes Yuuri’s hand, lacing their fingers securely, and waits. He’s been getting better at that. At waiting Yuuri out until the feelings and thoughts have nowhere else to go but _out_.

“You can’t really see the stars here,” Yuuri finally says, keeping his voice light.

“Ah, well, the sun hasn’t set quite yet,” Victor teases, just as light, not addressing what Yuuri’s really saying. That you can’t really see the stars here like you can in Hasetsu. “But it should, by the time we reach the waterfront.” He gives Yuuri’s hand a squeeze, and Yuuri gives him a soft, thankful smile as they continue their walk.

Yuuri has spent a lot of time along the St. Petersburg coast since the harsh winter has bled into spring. Most times, it’s with Victor, but there are days when he’s drawn to it, all on his own, cheeks pink from the wind sweeping in over the waves as his eyes track the seagulls, making him feel less at odds with himself (even if only until the sting of the sea leaves the back of his throat). Now, with Makkachin pressed against his knee and Victor’s hand warm and assuring in his, Yuuri breathes in open air and tastes salt as he watches stars flicker into existence.

Victor keeps watching him—long, slow, considering looks that give Yuuri a strange sense of safety. And he remembers, all that time ago, Victor letting himself be vulnerable on a beach very far away from the one he had always known, and it gives Yuuri the courage to stop pretending. To let the smile slip from his face as he stares at the darkening horizon, and _yearn_.

Victor shuffles them closer together, kisses his temple, squeezes his hand, and let’s him.

*

“I thought we could go and spend a few weeks with your family before we start working on next season,” Victor is saying, holding plane tickets and smiling in that way that curls around Yuuri’s heart and _squeezes_. But Yuuri’s eyes keep flicking behind him. “Stay at the onsen.” Around him. “See how much the triplets have grown.” Above him.

There are a thousand things that Yuuri could say, but his tongue stays lame in his mouth as he looks up at the ceiling, and he can feel the heavy, telltale pressure of tears pushing against his eyes.

“Victor…” He swallows, looking back at his fiancé, completely unable to articulate the rapid, overwhelming spread of emotion that’s suddenly overtaken him past a few clumsy tears. Victor is there immediately, catching them on the edge of his finger as he cups Yuuri’s cheek, smiling careful and hesitant and _real_.

“You can’t really see the stars in St. Petersburg,” Victor says, only days after Yuuri had admitted it to him. “Much to my frustration, that is _not_  something I have the power to fix, my Yuuri.” Yuuri giggles, the sound breathy and wet and fond. “But I thought, until we’re back in Hasetsu, we could have our own stars.”

From any other mouth, from any other person, it would be the worst, cheesiest thing in the world. But this is _Victor_ , and as sappily romantic as he is, Yuuri loves him and loves him for it. Loves that when Yuuri misses the stars, Victor accepts that he can’t erase decades of light pollution to make them visible but does not accept defeat. Yuuri misses the stars, he misses _home_ , so Victor strings up faerie lights like they can be stars, and _Yuuri loves him_.

He can’t speak, laughs instead even as he keeps crying, and Victor kisses his forehead and murmurs soft, quiet things in Russian that Yuuri only understands pieces of.

They leave the lights on late into the night, until Victor mournfully admits that he can’t fall asleep and Yuuri turns them off without hesitation. He can see the glow, when he closes his eyes, and they might not be the stars of Hasetsu, or even the stars of St. Petersburg, but they’re _their_  stars. His and Victor’s. They can’t erase how much he misses Japan, or his family, but they can ease the ache, make it that much more bearable to live with.

He might not always have Japan, but he will hold onto this man in his arms who loves him enough to give him the night sky and hope to always have him.


	5. where you come from

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **originally posted:** [june 16 2017](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/161901106260/prompt-stars-for-victuuri)  
>  **word count:** 466 words  
>  **prompt:** Stars for Victuuri [ part of soft single word prompts ]  
>  **prompted by:** makkaroon

“What’s it like?” The question comes soft and timid, nearly lost in the gentle sighs of the wind as it breathes past them. The sound it pulls out of the tall, silken white grass is nearly musical—if he wasn’t looking at a night sky occupied by three separate moons in varying stages, it would be a visceral reminder of how very far from home Victor truly is.

“What’s what like?” Victor keeps his voice just as quiet, as if speaking any louder might shatter the sky around them. Which, he’s learned, _could_  very well happen on some planets.

(Okay, maybe not something _quite_  so dire, but he can’t say with confidence that there wouldn’t be _any_  consequences for even the smallest of actions.

The preparations for going off planet are immensely extensive and mind-bogglingly thorough.

Victor still doesn’t think it’s enough.)

“Where you come from.” Yuuri turns to look at him, and he looks nearly human in that moment except for the way his eyes refract the moonlight like the finest quality gemstones. Victor wonders what color they would be, if Yuuri wasn’t an alien.

Then he remembers that out of the entire population on this planet with a name he can’t pronounce, _he’s_  the one who’s different. Here, Victor is the alien, not Yuuri.

“What’s it like?” Yuuri reiterates, letting the grass curl around his hand. When he touches it, the end lights up like a firefly, and Victor’s throat tightens at the simple beauty of it.

How does he tell Yuuri about Earth when this is the world he knows? How does he talk about a planet that his race used and abused and are only now making any sort of dent in the damage their ancestors did? What is Earth’s soiled water and dead fields to all of _this?_  

“I’ve never been anywhere else,” Yuuri continues, letting the plant lights fade away and turning back to the stars and constellations that look nothing like the ones Victor can see from Earth. “But I’m sure if it’s where you come from, it must be very beautiful.”

Victor can feel the blush from his collarbones to his hairline, and he is thankful that Yuuri’s people do not have a propensity for seeing in the dark. He swallows thickly, looking up at the stars instead of the fine, shimmering fibers that serve as Yuuri’s eyelashes, and reaches blindly in the grass for Yuuri’s hand. The skin is rougher than it looks, hard and cold to the touch like raw minerals, and thinks that however little he thinks of his own planet, there’s a very good chance that Yuuri will look upon it with the same awe that Victor feels now.

“I’ll take you there one day,” he promises, and Yuuri gives his hand a gentle, hopeful squeeze.


	6. do you want my number?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **originally posted:** [june 23 2017](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/162185306495/in-yuuris-defense-he-had-been-on-the-seventh)  
>  **word count:** 660 words

In Yuuri’s defense, he had been on the seventh hour of an eight hour workday that had felt entirely  _too_  long. He had been running on five hours of sleep, a snickers bar, and the idea that he could go home and sleep in another forty-five minutes. He’d been on autopilot for at least two hours at that point, and he hadn’t even noticed that the guy he was ringing up happened to be absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.

He reasons, now, that it had been better that way. If he’d  _known_ , things might’ve been a lot worse.

(Although it’s hard to imagine  _how_.)

As Yuuri had bagged several mystery novels that he’d never heard of, the guy had asked, “Do you want my number?”

Yuuri’s first thought had been,  _oh right, for the membership discount_ , because he is a retail  _robot_ , and the natural response to that had been, “Yes.”

If fate was kind to him, the guy’s number would have come up in the system. If it was kind to him, the guy would have meant what Yuuri had thought he had meant.

(Spoiler alert: he  _did not mean_  what Yuuri thought he meant.)

“I’m sorry, there doesn’t appear to be a membership with that number,” Yuuri had replied automatically. “Do you want to try a different one?”

“A… A what?”

That had been the moment Yuuri had finally looked up and realized how far the guy was leaning onto the register counter, how perfectly angular his features were, the starlight color of his hair. It had been like a slap in the face, and he had suddenly felt more awake than he had in hours.

“What?” Yuuri had mimicked back.

“A membership?”

“Yes?”

“You… You  _don’t_  want my number?”

“I  _what?”_

(He’d used one of the membership numbers he knew by heart. He gave the guy a bag for free, and didn’t meet his eyes once. Phichit had been a mix of giggles and sympathy when Yuuri had asked him to cover the registers while he went and hid in the bathroom until his mortification had died down.

“Why do these things happen to me?” He’d moaned after work, and Phichit had given him a tight hug and told him not to worry about it—he’d never see the guy again, right?)

Phichit had been wrong.

Phichit had been  _so wrong_.

“Let’s try this again.” He doesn’t have any books with him today. He’s just standing there, holding out his hand, waiting for Yuuri to take it. “I’m Victor. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” A beat. “Romantically?”

There’s a café on the second floor that Victor vaguely gestures towards.

“Uh.” Yuuri’s eyes shift around nervously, wondering if any of the managers are about to come over and yell at him for some reason. He forgets to shake Victor’s hand, and it slowly falls, along with his hopeful expression.

“I—” Oh god, is he doing this? Yep, he’s doing this. “I get half off in the café upstairs,” he blurts, staring more at the collar of Victor’s shirt than his face. “So.” He breathes. “Maybe I should buy you a cup of coffee.” He closes his eyes. “Romantically.” Oh god, is he  _dying_? He feels like he’s dying. Maybe he’s just blushing? It’s definitely one of the two. Maybe both. Whatever it is, Attractive Victor can probably totally tell.

He sticks out his hand abruptly like maybe that will hide how embarrassed he is. “I’m Yuuri.”  _And I never do this, can you tell?_

For a second, he considers the possible truth that Victor might have been so put off by Yuuri’s behavior that the idea of getting coffee with him is suddenly the Very Last Thing he’d ever want to do.

But then Victor’s hand is soft when it curls around Yuuri’s fingers in what is definitely  _not_ a handshake, and Yuuri’s eyes startle open when he feels Victor’s lips brush against his knuckles.

“That sounds wonderful, Yuuri.”


	7. cake tasting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **originally posted:** [june 29 2017](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/162421509565/cake-and-victuuri-for-the-one-word-prompt)  
>  **word count:** 649 words  
>  **prompt:** cake and victuuri [ part of soft single word prompts ]  
>  **prompted by:** anonymous

“He’s cute, huh?” Yuuko asks in a low voice, nudging Yuuri’s ribs with her elbow until he squirms away from the contact.

“ _Stop it_ ,” he hisses, glancing nervously at where the pastry chef had disappeared through the doors. There’s no way they’re thick enough to block the sound of voices. “We’re planning your wedding, not—” Yuuri’s not even sure. Not trying to find him a boyfriend? Yuuko’s been doing that since he came out. “I thought you invited me along for my opinion,” he diverts, staring down at the lilac tablecloth.

When Yuuko had called him that morning and asked if he’d like to go cake tasting with him, Yuuri hadn’t hesitated. He normally can’t justify eating a piece of cake—it’s generally too much of a good thing, especially when he doesn’t have the sweet tooth for it. But trying bites of dozens of  _different_  kind of cakes? It doesn’t even feel like a violation of his diet.

“I did,” she insists, and her grin curls impishly. “And I’m asking for  _your_  opinion—do  _you_  think he’s cute?”

Yuuri slips his fingers beneath the frames of his glasses to properly press at his eyes.

“You’re getting married,” he groans, and wishes the baker would come back with the cake samples so that their mouths would be too busy eating to talk.

“Yeah, but  _you_  aren’t,” she counters, and before Yuuri can say anything else (what would he  _even_  say?) the doors open and the baker walks back out.

“We have quite a few options here at Nikiforov,” he says in his smooth voice, and Yuuri finds he might be staring a little harder than he had been before.  _He’s cute, huh?_  Well,  _duh_. Just because Yuuri doesn’t date doesn’t mean he’s  _completely_  blind. “I’m sure you and your fiancé will find something to your liking.” He’s smiling and… Looking at Yuuri.

He shouldn’t be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s made that particular mistake.

“Oh, no—” Yuuko starts, flailing her hands around like the motion might be able to cut the train of thought completely.

“We’re just friends,” Yuuri tacks on.

“—we grew up together—”

“Her fiancé couldn’t make it today.”

“—and he’s just helping me out—”

“I’m really just here for the cake.”

“—and besides, he’s gay—”

“Y-Yuuko!”

“—and single.”

Yuuri stares at her in absolute mortification and would absolutely stand and leave except he drove both of them and that would mean leaving her here and Takeshi would  _kill_  him if he even knew Yuuri had thought about it and—

“I see,” says the pastry chef as he looks between them. Yuuri stares at the tablecloth harder, like maybe it will become sentient suddenly and devour him. That would be nice. “Well then.” He makes a flourish that draws Yuuri’s attention, picking up a very small, golden colored pastry. It doesn’t  _look_  like cake, the texture too smooth and too shiny. The garnish on top looks like a miniature dollop of whipped cream accented by… A piece of lemon rind? Yuuri doesn’t understand its purpose, but it’s lovely, for something so small.

The next thing he knows, the treat is being held at his lips, an assault of lemon and vanilla and the baker’s charming voice saying, “Let’s see how your gay, single childhood best friend likes this one.”

(”So how do you feel about a spring wedding? I think you and Victor could pull off that whole floral pastel motif,” Yuuko suggests as they leave the bakery, and Yuuri groans into his hands. He feels like he’s been blushing for an hour, and his skin is still warm to the touch. The taste of buttercream still sits on his tongue, and every time he remembers how it got there, any and all progress at calming down dissipates.

He bumps Yuuko with his shoulder in a pathetic attempt at a shove.

“I hate you so much.”)


	8. loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **originally posted:** [june 30 2017](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/162446828205/loss-victuuri-3)  
>  **word count:** 527 words  
>  **prompt:** Loss - Victuuri  <3 [ part of soft single word prompts ]  
>  **prompted by:** mmeishi
> 
> set during the end of chapter 2 of [we're after the same rainbows](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11203821), set in my [camp rosewood](http://archiveofourown.org/series/704898) verse

Yuuri shrieks as a water balloon smacks into the back of his head, the water soaking into the neck of his camp t-shirt and no doubt making whatever Takeshi wrote along the neckline even more illegible. When he spins around, he narrowly avoids a second balloon that explodes in the dirt at his feet.

Phichit is just bouncing out of view, bright laughter trailing after him. He’s gone before Yuuri’s even got a water balloon in his hand.

He… Is not very good at this, but at least he’s having fun.

A herd of sprout campers runs by, and a little boy with blond hair throws a balloon at him with much more force than he should be capable of. It explodes against Yuuri’s chest, making him gasp as water splashes against his face, and all the boys laugh before they flock out of sight.

“I’m doomed,” Yuuri murmurs as he removes his glasses and tries to wipe them clean on his damp shirt.

A water balloon pops at his ankles, water jumping up to his knees, and he jumps away from it in surprise.

“Yuuri! You’re an easy target if you just stand there like that!”

He shoves his glasses back up his nose, and turns to find Victor standing there, tossing a bright yellow water balloon up and down in his hand. He doesn’t even look a little wet.  _Of course_  he doesn’t.

“Did you—”

The yellow water balloon hits the grass at his feet, making him jump again.

“Victor! We’re on the same team!” Yuuri cries in dismay, backing up slowly. He just needs to get to the edge of the woods, find some cover in the trees. He’s out in the open here.

Victor pauses where he’s fishing out another balloon, and cocks his head to the side.

“There are teams?”

A water balloon pops suddenly on the bathroom wall behind Victor, just missing his face, and is followed by a loud call of, “Found him!” It sounds like JJ.

“Whoops.” Victor glances backwards, and then darts forward. The next thing Yuuri knows is Victor has him by the wrist and is tugging him quickly away between two cabins. “Then I guess we should stick together now.” Victor smiles at him.

“Uh—” Three water balloons pop just behind them, and Victor’s laugh is almost taunting. “That’s probably not a good idea.” Yuuri’s words squeak as Victor tugs him sharply around a corner. “I-I’m not very good at this.” Not that he isn’t having fun, but that doesn’t stop the fact that he is nearly drenched head-to-toe and Victor is still completely dry. Yuuri can see where he signed Victor’s shirt on the sleeve of his shirt. “I’ll make you lose.”

He’s pretty sure there aren’t winners or losers. They’ll run around until there are no more water balloons and they’re too exhausted to go on.

Chris appears before them suddenly, drawing them up short, and Victor looks down at Yuuri with bright eyes.

“Then I guess we’ll lose together,” he says easily as JJ and Georgi flank them from behind.

A water balloon pops against the side of his head, and Victor laughs.


	9. LAM #1 - on horseback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **originally posted:** [july 3 2017](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/162572267790/victuuri-79)  
>  **word count:** 990 words  
>  **prompt:** Victuuri, 79. “That’s the third time I’ve saved your life!” [from [this](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/162534737665/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you)]  
>  **prompted by:** kiaronna
> 
> establishing the **lowkey arranged marriage au**

They’ve been traveling in silence for nearly twenty minutes when Victor says, “You know, you really should be more careful.” He says it loftily, casually, with a familiarity that doesn’t exist between them. Yuuri stares at the scrapes that stripe from his wrists to his forearms and fights the urge to tear Shinju’s reins from Victor’s hands so that he can make his escape—back to the stables, deeper into the woods, it doesn’t  _matter_  where so long as it gets him out of this awkward game of pretend that he and Victor are constantly trapped in.

He can just imagine his parents disappointed faces when they learned of his actions.

“I am careful,” Yuuri responds, although he says it more to Shinju’s mane than to Victor. It feels wrong to be astride a horse and not properly riding it—he hasn’t been led like this since he was a child.

But he supposes he should be grateful. Victor could have insisted they ride double instead.

“Are you?” Victor asks pleasantly. “Aren’t you usually accompanied on your morning rides?”

It’s not a question that warrants an answer—Victor already knows it.

“We’re lucky I found you. With both you and your horse injured, things could have been a lot worse.”

Yuuri’s not sure he would call it  _luck_. It’s more like… Inevitable coincidence.

He distracts himself from the unfortunate reality of Victor’s statement (surely someone  _else_  would have found him eventually) by looking back at Kaito. He’s tethered to Shinju’s saddle with a lead, and is keeping up with their leisurely pace easily enough. But there’s an unevenness to his gait that betrays his injury, and Yuuri forgets his own discomfort in his concern.

“How much further is it?” He asks. The sooner they’re back at the stables, the sooner both Kaito and himself can be treated, and the sooner Yuuri can try to unravel the mess of his morning. It wouldn’t be the first time Kaito had ever thrown him, but he’s hardly a novice anymore and Kaito isn’t a colt. They’ve been riding together for a decade.

It doesn’t make sense.

“Unfortunately, a few more miles. Your ride took you quite a ways from the palace.” Victor looks back at Yuuri with the sort of smile that is impossible to decipher and therefore absolutely infuriating. “Were you looking for something, Your Highness?”

Yuuri nearly looks around to see if someone else has joined them—Victor hardly ever addresses him properly unless there’s an audience. But their only company remains Victor’s borrowed palace horse and Yuuri’s own.

 _Peace_ , he thinks, staring morosely at the leather of Shinju’s saddle.  _Space. Somewhere I could go and be alone with my thoughts for once. A quiet place where I_ don’t  _have to be the Crown Prince, even if just for a moment._

“Riding helps me clear my head,” is how he actually answers. He’s been slipping away from his contingent at least once a week for the last several years, just to pretend at having some semblance of freedom. At this point, it’s less an escape and more of an agreement.  _Only a few hours_ , they’d made him promise.  _And never beyond the gates._

They were rules that Yuuri had always followed.

Until one day he hadn’t.

He can’t blame anyone for Victor’s presence—it was his own foolishness that brought him into their lives.

Victor slows to a stop, and the horses halt behind him.

“We shouldn’t delay,” Yuuri insists, impatience buzzing in his limbs with the utter lack of control he currently has. “Kaito is injured, and—”

“And so are you.” There’s a strange pinch to Victor’s face that Yuuri doesn’t understand. “You know, if we were keeping count, that’s the third time I’ve saved your life, and—”

“We’re not.” Yuuri bristles. “In fact, while we’re discussing it, let me free you of any obligation you feel to continue doing so. You…” It hurts when his hands curl into fists, the bruises on his knuckles still fresh, still tender. “You got your prize.” The words are thick, like bile, and Yuuri feels a hot pressure behind his eyes. “It’s over. It’s done.”

_Please just take me home. Please just leave it alone._

The silence that follows stretches for so long that Yuuri thinks maybe Victor will do just that. That  _maybe_  this entire morning can stay here in the woods, and be left behind with Yuuri’s wounded pride.

 _“_ Do you think that’s why I saved you the first time?” Victor’s voice is startling in its suddenness, and then jarring in its uncharacteristic hollowness. It’s a sound that Yuuri is completely and utterly unfamiliar with. “Do you think I—what?” Victor laughs without humor. “Somehow divined that I would be summoned to the palace?” He isn’t quite yelling, but his voice is escalating—a blunt force that grows more and more incredulous. “That I  _knew_  I would be offered your hand in exchange for my  _favor to the crown_?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time!” The anger flares, sharp and painful, and Yuuri wishes he were anywhere else. Wishes he had some reason, some excuse, to leave this conversation behind. “Others have done far worse for a chance at the crown!”

Because at the end of the day, that’s all Yuuri is. He is his parents, and his family. He is their kingdom, and their rule, and their riches. He is their power.

He is a white golden circlet imbedded with fine gems, and that is all he ever will be.

 _So you can stop pretending_ , he should say, but his throat is too tight to speak.  _Stop pretending to be interested in me. Stop pretending to be charming. Stop pretending to care about my well-being._

_Stop pretending you aren’t just like the rest of them._

“…is that why you think I’m here? That I’m only interested in your title?”

It makes Yuuri laugh—a single, sob-like sound, more grief than mirth.

“What else do I have to offer?”


	10. LAM #1 - in a hallway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **originally posted:** [july 23 2017](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/163394148345/38-you-faintedstraight-into-my-arms-you-know)  
>  **word count:** 987 words  
>  **prompt:** 38\. “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” victurri. [from [this](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/162534737665/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you)]  
>  **prompted by:** youreyesarelikestarlightnow
> 
> part of my **lowkey arranged marriage au**

“Yuuri? Yuuri.”

The ground is cold and hard beneath him as Yuuri tries to open his eyes. He doesn’t remember where he is, or how he got there, but that voice—that’s Victor. Yuuri would know it anywhere, like it or not.

“Victor?” 

There’s a sudden rushing exhale from somewhere nearby, a blur of words that are too hushed and too quick for Yuuri to catch. 

“Where am I?” He pushes a hand over his eyes; his glasses are missing. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” Victor explains as Yuuri’s conscious mind comes back to him. He’s on the floor, but he’s propped up, supported by something warm and firm and—and  _breathing_. “Straight into my arms.”

Yuuri works his eyes open as much as he can manage and finds the dimness of the palace hallways, and Victor. He’s close, almost as close as he could possibly be. As close as he’s been since they first met so many weeks ago, a tangle of limbs and adrenaline on a sidewalk. The hallway is lit by low burning gas lamps, and Yuuri can hardly see his face apart from a shine in his eyes.

There’s relief, and a playfulness, when he speaks.

“You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

And just like that, Yuuri’s daze splinters and he’s pushing away in a panic, stumbling backwards until his palms catch against the marble. There’s a drag to his movements, and a wave of exhaustion nearly flattens him against the floor again.

“I didn’t—” Yuuri protests, trying his best to stand and swaying precariously. His legs feel weak, trembling like a baby doe’s, and he presses his shoulder into the wall before he collapses again. It seems his sleeplessness has finally caught up with him.

“Yuuri?” Victor’s voice is different—more strained, more worried. He stands up as well, but he keeps his distance. “Are you okay?” His voice is cautious, careful, like Yuuri is some kind of, some kind of  _spooked_  animal. Yuuri grits his teeth.

“I’m fine.” The lie is like sandpaper over his tongue. “I was just going back to my room for the night.” If he’s this exhausted, maybe he’ll sleep this time. Maybe he’ll sleep deeply enough that the dreams won’t come.

“You can hardly stand,” Victor points out. “I wouldn’t call that fine.“

“I’m just tired.” That, at least, isn’t a lie. Victor doesn’t need to know that he’s been tired for weeks. It’s not like anything can be done to help it. “It’s late.”

“It is.” Victor tips his head to the side. “What are you doing up so late, anyway?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Not that Yuuri was up to anything secretive. He’d been in his favorite corner of the library, trying to tire himself out with books. It used to be that he’d try to sneak out, to go for a run or wander the gardens, but considering how many near-death experiences he’s had in the last month, his parents—and therefore Yuuri’s contingent of bodyguards—has become especially protective.

It’s almost as if Victor is bad luck.

“Well, you never know when the Crown Prince might be wondering around in need of assistance.”

“I don’t need your help,” Yuuri insists, sliding another step back. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I just—” His knee buckles and he stumbles, and then Victor is there, hand on his arm and keeping him steady.

“You just need to lie down,” Victor says. “If you won’t let me help you back to your room, at least let me escort you. For my sake.”

Yuuri frowns and looks away, ignoring the warm point of contact where Victor’s hand is curled just above his elbow.

“You don’t  _need_  to,” he mumbles.

“I’m sure most of the kingdom would disagree, but I would assume you knew me better by now, Yuuri.” Victor let’s go but doesn’t take a step back, his hands hovering and ready to catch Yuuri the second his body gives out on him again. “I don’t do things unless I want to do them.”

“So you broke our betrothal because that’s what you wanted to do,” Yuuri concludes, eyes cast towards the ground. He doesn’t know why it makes his chest feel heavy, why it makes his his heart clench painfully. It’s what he wanted, after all. For Victor to be free of the obligation. For the game of pretend to end.

But Victor was supposed to leave. And he hadn’t.

Victor doesn’t respond for a long time, choosing instead to step away before graciously offering his arm. The smile on his face looks like porcelain in the gaslight. When he finally speaks, it’s as if Yuuri never said anything.

“Allow me to see you to your bedroom, Your Highness.”

The formality that Yuuri has known his whole life is like a bucket of cold water when it comes from Victor. It’s proper, it’s protocol, and Yuuri hates how  _wrong_  it feels.

Yuuri quietly takes his arm and allows himself to be walked back to his room. It takes longer than it should, Yuuri’s legs weak and his head heavy. He’s nervous about the short trek from the door to his bed, but he doesn’t dare ask Victor to cross the threshold. He is not brave to ask for so much.

He’s just turned the knob when Victor breaks the long silence of their walk with a rushed, “ _Yuuri_.” And Yuuri pauses, letting his weight rest against the doorframe.

Victor is staring at him, lips parted, and then smiles, small and brittle. 

“Goodnight, Yuuri.”

The words don’t match Victor’s smile, and Yuuri has the urge to reach out and touch, curious if his fingers will brighten or shatter it.

He does not intend to actually press his fingers to Victor’s lower lip, to push at the corner of his mouth until the shock on Victor’s face twitches into a smile.

“Goodnight, Victor.”


	11. the beginning, the middle, the—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **originally posted:** [july 28 2017](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/163551796285/13-victuuri-for-the-drabbles-im-a-big-sap)  
>  **word count:** 1073 words  
>  **prompt:** 13\. “Kiss me.” Victuuri for the drabbles! (I'm a big sap~) [from [this](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/163389934135/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you)]  
>  **prompted by:** mmeishi

There are, ultimately, a million different things that have culminated in this exact moment. If anything, perhaps Yuuri should have seen it coming. Should have known that he was balancing on the edge of a knife, pressing his luck far further than he ever should have dared. He is Icarus and he flew too close to the sun, and now he’s going to die.

… _okay_ , well, maybe he’s not going to  _die_ , but it certainly  _feels_  like he is.

The thing is,  _the thing is_ , that Yuuri never meant for it to get this out of hand. It’s not even like Luke is a particularly bad guy, and maybe if Yuuri wasn’t completely and utterly emotionally unavailable, he’d go out on a date with him. But it doesn’t seem fair to get somebody’s hopes up like that, not when Yuuri knows nothing would ever come of it because he’s kind of in love with somebody else and the whole  _moving on using other people_  thing just… Hasn’t worked for him in the past.

So yeah, Luke isn’t a bad guy, he’s just  _persistent_ , and no matter how many times Yuuri had tried to gently turn him down, he always came back for more. It would be like looking in a mirror if Yuuri ever actually had the courage to pursue his own feelings.

(Which he hasn’t.  _Ever_. There’s far,  _far_ too much at stake.)

And so it is a moment of complete desperation, when Luke is asking him out for what feels like the hundredth time and Yuuri has run out of ways to say  _no_ , that he just—he just says the worst possible thing he could ever say.

“I’m seeing someone.”

And because Luke isn’t a bad guy, he drops it.

And because Yuuri is a complete idiot, he doesn’t.

“For a few weeks. I should have told you sooner.”

Luke doesn’t press, he doesn’t pry, and yet Yuuri can’t seem to remember how to make his mouth  _stop moving_ , a thought barely formed before it’s tumbling past his lips.

Which is why the  _actual_  worst possible thing he could ever, in the history of his entire life, say is, “It’s Victor. I’m dating Victor now.”

He doesn’t know why he went that far. He doesn’t know how Luke even believed him. Because Victor might be Yuuri’s best friend, and Yuuri might be impossibly in love with him, but no one in their right  _mind_  would ever think they’d actually  _date_.

(Then again, Luke had wanted to date Yuuri, so maybe he  _isn’t_  in his right mind).

And Yuuri had known, from that moment, that he was the World’s Biggest Fuck-Up, and that if Luke ever told  _anyone_ , it could get back to Victor. Victor would know what he said, and would hate him for it. 

Possibly.

Okay, so it’s much more likely that Victor would have just  _asked_  why Yuuri had said it in the first place, but Yuuri isn’t sure he could actually explain what happened without also accidentally confessing his undying love.

But somehow, miraculously, nothing happens. Phichit rolls his eyes, and Luke stops asking him out, and Victor doesn’t act any differently. The only thing that changes  _really_  is that Luke becomes interested in Yuuri’s fake relationship, and it’s… Stupidly easy, to talk about dating Victor. Even though Yuuri has no experience in the area whatsoever—him and Victor have been friends for  _years_ , and Yuuri… Well. He’s thought about it  _a lot_.

So he let his guard drop. Stopped thinking about it. He only had to pretend to be Victor’s boyfriend for  _one person_ , and it was… Actually kind of fun. Like pretending at a life he’s always wanted but knew he could never, ever have. And, over time, he forgot about his little white lie. 

Which is probably why he’s panicking, as he watches Luke walk towards him from across the quad.

Towards him  _and Victor_.

Everything, all of it, has all led to this moment. Whatever happens, Yuuri doesn’t want to be here for it.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

“Yuuri?” Victor’s hand feels like hot coals on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I—”  _told this guy we were dating because all I’ve wanted for two years is to be your boyfriend and now I’ve fucked it all up and I don’t know how to fix it, I don’t know what to do, and I want to ask for your help but I don’t think I can because how do I ask for your help without telling you what I did and, oh shit Luke is almost here._  “Victor.” Yuuri looks at him, swallows, pressing a hand to his chest. “Kiss me.”

The words are so heavy Yuuri can practically hear them shatter their friendship.  _Don’t cry. Not yet. Not now._

“Yuuri, what—”

“I’m sorry, I’ll explain later, just—just kiss me.  _Please_.”

And later, later Yuuri will tell Luke how him and Victor broke up. He probably won’t have to fake being heartbroken, either.

And maybe next time Luke asks him out, Yuuri will be able to say yes.

Maybe, maybe this was the only way this could have turned out.

Victor stares at him, mouth slack, and Yuuri seizes every shred of courage in his body and just—kisses him. Holy shit, Yuuri  _kisses_  Victor. And even though he knows he’s breaking something that can’t ever be fixed, even though it’s the ending of everything, it still feels like the crescendo in a symphony that’s been building and building and building.

There’s the urge to push it longer, to let it linger, to breathe Victor in and hold him there because Yuuri will never have the chance again—but he doesn’t. The kiss lasts for a few hammering heart beats, and then it’s done. 

The end of a kiss.

The end of their friendship.

Victor’s eyes are closed.

“I’m—” Victor runs his tongue over his lips, and it’s potentially the cruelest thing he could do in that moment aside from physically push Yuuri away. Victor swallows, and Yuuri watches the movement. “I’m sure you have a very good explanation for that, but for now—”

And maybe the most unpredictable thing about this story, the ending that Yuuri never could have planned for, never would have seen, is when Victor leans back in and kisses him again.

That’s the funny thing that Yuuri often forgets about endings, though—they tend to lead to beginnings.

**Author's Note:**

> [send me prompts on tumblr? (◡‿◡✿) ](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
